


Sex on the Beach

by hwbswd



Series: Fruity Drinks [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Established Relationship, Help, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome, this is just porn wtf, where did this even come from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwbswd/pseuds/hwbswd
Summary: “It’s impossible to know what any relationship is like unless you’re in it.” And sometimes not even then, he thinks. “It’s like a foreign country. But yours looks nice."Paul gives him that wicked, thrilling, terrifying grin-and-eyebrow combo of his. “And you’re fantasizing about a frolic on the beach?”
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz | Flake, Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz | Flake/Till Lindemann
Series: Fruity Drinks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825258
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	Sex on the Beach

Till can’t help watching Paul and Flake. Not in a pervy way, almost more of how it’s nice to watch a crackling fire. They look...comfortable. Cheerful. Homey. And while Till’s own life does everything he needs it to do, he’s never had that kind of constancy. It’s rather pleasant to experience it by proxy, it lends a nice warmth to the world between them. 

Flake wouldn’t notice a train passing through his own kitchen, but Paul watches Till back. At first Till thinks it’s just coincidence, but Paul is definitely onto him. They’re not overtly affectionate around the band, but Till’s pretty sure it was no accident that Flake was faced his way when Paul fondly gave a couple rubs to the back of his neck. It was no accident that Paul peeked at him over Flake’s shoulder, as Flake’s face went momentarily dreamy. And definitely no accident that Paul then gently shook Flake by the neck, making him close his eyes and sigh, while Paul winked at Till. 

Till is pretty sure it’s also deliberate that that night in the hotel bar Paul parks himself next to Till. Flake is on Paul’s other side, nattering away to Ollie. Paul bumps Till’s shoulder. It’s probably stupid to not make Paul work for it a little, but it’s seeming a bit late to play dumb. He clinks his beer bottle against Paul’s. 

“Nice view?” Paul asks. 

Till shrugs. “Sort of. Nice postcards, maybe.” 

“How’s that?”

“It’s impossible to know what any relationship is like unless you’re in it.” And sometimes not even then, he thinks. “It’s like a foreign country. The tourist photos never include the slums, or the civil wars.” 

Paul nods. He is a good listener when he puts his mind to it. 

Till goes on, “But yours looks nice. Some relationships, to stretch a simile, you look at them and think, ‘but it rains constantly’. Or ‘what’s the point of having such beautiful scenery if it’s too dangerous to enjoy it’. But yours,” and he glances across at Flake, “it looks like the travel brochures might not be so far off. It looks warm and sunny. Like it’s a pleasant place to live.” 

Paul gives him that wicked, thrilling, terrifying grin-and-eyebrow combo of his. “And you’re fantasizing about a frolic on the beach?” 

Till’s mouth goes dry. He shakes his head. “Just contemplating the growing of palm trees.” 

“They take forever, though,” Paul says. “And they’re fussy about the climate.” And before Till can figure out what that’s supposed to mean he’s poking Flake in the ribs to get his attention. “Sorry, Ollie, I need to get a visa approved.”

Both Ollie and Flake look equally confused, but Ollie shrugs and turns to Schneider and Richard, who are going to have to be broken up in a minute anyway. 

Paul throws his arm over Flake’s shoulders. “Flake, we love Till, right?”

***

It took less convincing than Till would have expected. He didn’t understand about half of the conversation Paul and Flake had to get here, but in the end they wait only the minimum amount of time to seem respectable before they leave, strolling down the corridor with elbows linked, Till in the middle. Paul is swinging a bottle of wine in his other hand. 

Inside the room, Till thinks he’s glad they’re on tour, it’s better to do this in a hotel. He’s a visitor, after all, not an invader. 

Flake hops up to sit on the bedspread, long legs crossed, and pats the pillows beside him. “Come lounge in the figurative sun.” 

Till toes off his shoes while Paul rattles around for a corkscrew. He pours into the room’s cups, the usual limited selection yielding two water glasses and a mug. He makes an exaggerated ‘after you’ gesture with one of them to Till, who obediently sits beside Flake. Paul hands them each a cup, Flake gets the mug, and Paul sits with his own at the foot of the bed. 

“Cheers.” They solemnly toast in the middle of the bed. Till drains half of his off at a go. He’s not nervous, exactly, but this has higher stakes than his usual. Flake takes a solid gulp, wipes his mouth on his hand like the heathen that he is, and reaches for Till. 

He cups the back of his neck and Till gets a momentary impression of Flake lowering his eyes, almost shyly, before he presses their mouths together. It’s a polite kiss, a gentle kiss, just soft wine-damp lips. After a moment Flake breaks off with a delicate peck and a fleeting grin. He glances down, cheeks pink, and takes a long pull from his mug. Till gulps from his own. 

“How’s the water?” asks Paul. He’s propped on his elbows and has his hand on Flake’s ankle, rubbing his thumb up and down behind the bone, his eyes bright. 

“Mmm, haven’t but dabbled my toes,” Till says. He finishes his glass, and Paul snags the bottle from the floor and refills all three. Before he can sip it Flake pulls him in again. 

It’s more familiar this time, more open, and Flake darts his tongue in after a moment, the underside of it slick against Till’s lower lip. He grunts softly, appreciatively. Paul shifts around and comes to kneel pressed up against Till’s other side. Till keeps his eyes closed while Paul nuzzles under his ear. When he sucks Flake’s lower lip into his mouth Flake gasps, and Paul pops off him to say, “Flake, wine.” 

Flake had been about to inattentively pour his full mug into his lap. He rights it, then with a glance at Till drinks most of it in three long swallows that make every muscle in his throat stand out. 

“That’s a nice wine, you know,” Paul says. 

“Very nice. Better drink it,” Flake agrees, looking challengingly at Till. Paul rolls his eyes, Till can’t see it, but with Paul’s chin propped on his shoulder he can somehow feel it, that little movement of affectionate irritation. Paul takes a couple mouthfuls of his own anyway. Till throws back half of his, and is aware of being watched intently from both sides at close range as he swallows. Flake puts one skinny arm across his shoulders, and he wraps his hand around Flake’s thigh, the knit snagging on his fingers. 

Flake’s third kiss tastes entirely of wine, sweet and sharp. He’s not shy now. This kiss is deep, open-mouthed, unambiguous. Paul starts unbuttoning his shirt. When Flake sets his teeth to Till’s lower lip Till breaks away, his lip stretching until Flake releases it. Till holds up a finger for pause, already panting, as he finishes his glass and sets the empty cup aside. 

Flake runs his hand up Till’s arm. “The traditional attire is less -” he pinches Till’s shirt on the shoulder, pulling the fabric up. “Less.” 

“It’s already open, Flake, just take it off,” Paul says. 

“I don’t want to spook him,” Flake answers, speaking to Till rather than to Paul.

Till clears his throat. “You’ll know if you spook me. You’re not even close, now.” He could take the shirt off himself, he supposes, but he’d rather Flake did it. 

Flake nods, then presses a light kiss to his lips and pushes the shirt off his shoulders. Paul, on his other side, runs his hands down Till’s chest and gathers big handfuls of his t-shirt where it lies over his stomach. Till raises his arms and Paul drags it off, and Flake’s hands are instantly on his skin, softly stroking from his collarbones down to his waist. Paul latches on to his neck. Till wonders if his stubble is painful on his lips, he’s been told that a day’s growth of his beard hair could strip paint. Paul doesn’t seem deterred. Flake’s touch is so light it almost tickles. 

“I’m beginning to think,” he rumbles, Paul’s tongue drawing hot circles under his jaw, “that the locals are overdressed.” The wine is starting to hit, and though he’s not going to get drunk on two glasses he can enjoy the buzz. He doesn’t want to be drunk, not for this. 

“Here.” Flake finds Till’s hand and brings it to his own hip. Till gets the idea and eases Flake’s shirt up, gathering the material on his wrist as he coasts his palm up Flake’s bony front. It’s just a long-sleeved tee, stretchy and soft with nothing underneath. Flake reaches behind his head and hauls it the rest of the way off, making a mess of his hair.

He takes his glasses off and puts them on the nightstand. Twisting his torso like that makes all his ribs slide under his thin skin. Till knows very, very well what Flake looks like, but he’s shocked all over again at how scrawny he is - he could almost put his hands completely around his waist. He feels monstrously huge in comparison, all ruined skin and heavy bulk and coarse dark hair. Flake turns back to him with that face that means he can’t see anything farther than arm’s reach, before kissing Till on the shoulder and running his hands around Till’s arm. Till rubs the back of his finger along the sharp line of Flake’s ribcage, anything more would feel like a contamination, like he was befouling something pure, anything less...he doesn’t think he can do less. 

“Lay down.” Paul gives him a push, hand flat on the middle of his chest. Till lets himself be guided onto the pillows. “Relax, enjoy a fruity drink.” Paul leans down and kisses his cheek. “You can touch, it’s okay.” Paul kisses him on the mouth, harder than Flake does. “Let us show you around.” 

Till swallows, and tells his brain to simmer down. Paul kisses him again, and Flake squeezes up against him and starts playing with a nipple. He blindly puts an arm around him, and Flake snuggles closer before moving his hand from Till’s chest to his waist. Paul licks down from his mouth to his neck again, and Flake reaches across Till to pet Paul’s short hair. He scrapes his fingers through it, then says, deliberately, “ _You’re_ a fruity drink.” 

“I beg your pardon.” They glare at each other for a second over Till, then bust out laughing. He can feel both of them against his sides, muscles and bones and breath and life, and it’s wonderful. 

Paul sits up to take his shirt off, and Flake and Till watch appreciatively. Paul’s got a little more meat on him, a soft smooth layer over muscle. Till fondles his cushy hip, and lets his hand slip higher and higher up his back as Paul wiggles down. 

As Paul gets a hold on his waistband Flake mouths over his nipple again, and Till doesn’t know where to focus. He lifts his hips, and Paul yanks his sweatpants down, underwear too, and Flake sucks as they’re pushed off his feet. 

He throws his head back as Paul licks him in one long stroke from balls to tip. 

“I don’t know what activities you had in mind,” Paul murmurs, “ but I would _highly_ recommend a ride on that dick.” 

“Sure, give me the tour,” he says thickly. Flake does something incredible with his tongue, and Till struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. 

Paul nods, and gets up for supplies - gloves, lube, condoms, towel - and lays them out on the edge of the bed. He drops his pants standing. Dicks all look the same, more or less, the only novelty to them is who they’re attached to. Paul’s is beautiful. Till’s mouth waters suddenly. Something about the way the little row of supplies is arranged conveniently sends home that this isn’t a fumble that can be minimized or laughed off - it’s impulsive, sure, but these two know what they’re doing, at least with each other, and here he is. His heart is pounding against his breastbone under Flake’s hand as Paul climbs back onto the bed. 

Paul puts on one glove and slides his hand under Till’s knee. The nitrile feels cool and smooth, and he obediently bends his leg, then pulls it to his chest as Paul encourages him up. He has to hold it with one arm. Flake trails one finger along his now conveniently-located inner thigh, making him shiver. Paul nudges his other leg to the side, then glances up sternly. “Flake, pants.” 

“Oh. Right.” Flake is the only one still wearing anything. He pulls away from Till and does some kind of supremely awkward squigle, rolling from side to side to get the waist down and then bringing his legs up to where he can reach to push them past his knees. He gets stuck on his feet, the whole maneuver all dangerous elbows and weird angles. 

“Why didn’t you just stand up, you nutter?” laughs Paul. He’s caressing Till’s ass with both hands, gloved on one cheek and bare on the other. Till hopes they don’t need him to talk right now. 

Flake shrugs as he tucks back up to Till. “It’s nice here.” He flops his naked legs over Till’s knee splayed out on the mattress and kisses him, soft and needy. 

Till loves pain, he needs pain. With these two, there’s no pain, only balm. Flake traces thoughtfully over the scars on his arms and chest, and Paul tuts over the greening bruises under his ass, and it hurts enough, knowing that they know, a tight sweet ache. 

“Comfy?” 

It takes Till a second to realize Paul was asking _him_. “Yeah.” He’s gotten his arm around Flake’s back again, and Flake is alternating between kissing him while running his fingertips along the hair between his sternum and navel, and doing whatever that tongue-trick on his nipple is that goes straight to his tailbone. He’s not doing a great job of reciprocating, all he can really manage is running his hand up and down Flake’s narrow back. They’ve barely touched him, just that one good lick from Paul, but he’s plenty stimulated as it is. 

And then Paul rubs slick gloved fingers over him, and Flake’s light hand strokes from his navel down to his groin, and as Paul pushes in Flake wraps his hand over the head of his cock, and he can feel the small of his back break out in a immediate prickly sweat. He makes a breathy, strangled noise on the inhale, and Paul laughs and kisses his raised ankle, and Flake laughs and kisses him on the throat, and oh it’s good. 

He realizes they’re coordinating silently when Paul adds a third finger and Flake makes a couple longer strokes at the same time. There’s no way Flake could have seen what Paul was doing, but through the haze of pleasure he opens his eyes and sees them break eye contact with each other and glance back to him, having successfully gotten him into the deeper stretch without any real discomfort. His arm holding his knee up is starting to get tired, but that’s it. 

He repositions his arm between his calf and his thigh, and then he can reach Flake’s hand and take it off his cock. Paul is flexing his fingers, forcing them to go side by side rather than in a smaller bundle, and anything more is too much. 

“Good?” Flake checks. 

He nods and brings Flake’s fingers to his mouth, sucking his own salt off them. He starts with the tips of his index and middle fingers, but he needs more, he needs all of it, and when he licks around his ring finger and then pushes them all in Flake makes a desperate gasp, and bucks off his leg. Till is simultaneously delighted and ashamed, he’s been doing nothing but lay here and neglect them, being a completely selfish jerk. 

Flake kisses him on the temple. “Shut up.” 

Till opens his eyes, right into Flake’s huge blue gaze. 

“I can see you thinking, stop it.” 

Till would open his mouth to protest, but it’s still full of Flake’s fingers, so instead he sucks and slides his tongue between them down to the webbing, and is gratified to see Flake close his eyes heavily above him. 

Paul does some kind of twisting hook with his fingers, and Till is glad all over again that he took Flake’s hand off him. “You’re good to go whenever.” He pats Till’s sprawling leg with his other hand. “No hurry, though.” 

Till has a brief vision of laying here all night and letting Paul gently work him farther and farther open while Flake cuddles him and strokes him, never finishing, just melding together into one big sleepy warm aroused animal. It sounds great. He has nothing like that kind of patience. 

He slides Flake’s fingers slowly out of his mouth, dragging them across his lips. “Is this part the pony ride?” 

Flake giggles and smacks him with his damp hand. “On the beach! Isn’t that something people do?” 

“At sunset, right.” Paul slips his fingers out, which is an experience all on its own, then squirts a big glob of lube onto them and applies it generously to Till’s ass. “That ought to hold you for a while.” He peels the glove off. “Budge over.” 

Flake gets up, and Till rolls heavily into the spot he had occupied. He’s slid off the pillows and is just sprawling on the mattress. He watches Paul arrange the pillows into a strategic heap. His cock bobs as he moves around on his knees, patting and fluffing. Till heaves himself onto his hands and crawls to him. Paul stops moving, and Till drops to nuzzle above his knee. “Let me?” 

Paul rubs his shoulder. “Just for a minute. Don’t get too distracted.” He moves his knees apart. Till mouths up his thigh, the muscles firm and long, until he finds scruffy hair. He wants to press his face into the crease of his hip by his balls, but he knows Paul is too ticklish. Instead he rubs his forehead on Paul’s belly, and Paul massages his shoulder again. 

He’s pretty sure Paul meant it about ‘just for a minute’, so he doesn’t waste time. As he eases Paul’s cock into his throat Flake moves around to kneel with his hip against Till’s shoulder and his arms around Paul. Till realizes they’ve been touching him rather than each other this whole time. When he leans forward to take him deeper Flake moves along with him, both of them bumping up to Paul. It’s a good angle, he can get most of the way down easily. He opens his eyes, and Flake’s dick is _right there_ by his face. He almost laughs, because of course it is. He contemplates switching over to suck it, but he wants to make the most of the minute. 

Still, it’s an inspiring sight. He opens his jaw wider, and shifts his weight forward and back, slow and deep. Flake doesn’t follow him on the backstroke, and when he strains his eyes up they’re in an...involved liplock above him, Flake hugging Paul with both arms and Paul pulling his head in with one hand. The other hand is still on Till’s shoulder. Paul is starting to make subtle thrusts when he pushes Till back. “That’s -” Flake darts back in and kisses him soundly. “- good. That’s good.” He sounds a little breathless. “Flake, sit.” 

They rearrange, Till sitting back on his heels while Flake reclines, Paul repositioning the mountain of pillows behind him. “Better back support?” he asks. 

Paul grins at him. “Nah, this just works better if he sits up a bit. Better angle. He, uh, aims high.” 

Flake wiggles once more before settling back, and yeah, okay, Till can see it. “Here,” says Paul, handing him a condom. 

“Can -” he hands it back. “Can you?”

“I have hands, you know,” says Flake, squinting nearsightedly at them. 

“And very nice they are, too,” agrees Paul, tearing the wrapper. He sits and casually pecks Flake’s raised knee. It makes Till’s chest clench a little, that little not-particularly-sexual action happening over Flake’s raging hard-on, Paul’s hand angling it up off his belly before rolling the condom down. “You want me to lube him, too?” 

“Please.” 

Flake reaches out to Till’s leg and squeezes it reassuringly while Paul slicks him up. 

Flake pats his own thighs. “Hop on.” 

Paul moves aside, and Till gingerly straddles Flake. He looks tiny under him, his hips so much slighter than Till’s own, his chest hardly any deeper than his neck. Flake reaches up for him, and Till leans down to meet him. Even in this position Flake drops his eyes before their mouths meet. His cock drags over Flake’s belly, and he worries briefly about tasting bad. Then he figures he probably tastes like Paul. 

“You’ll have to do some of the work,” Flake says, light hands on Till’s thighs. “I can’t thrust up hard from here.” Till nods and kneels up to get aligned. Flake reaches back to cradle Till’s ass and guide him down. 

“I’ll get you started.” Paul beside them is holding Flake’s cock in his fist, aiming. He’s apparently perfectly happy playing tour guide. 

Till works his way down, head thrown back, little shallow thrusts from Flake meeting his own falling pushes. He knows not to put weight on Flake’s left shoulder, he’s grabbed it accidentally before and no matter how many times Flake says it’s fine Till fears the feel of the bone just under the skin, it always gives him a sick jolt of terror how fragile it feels. He puts his hands beside his shoulders on the pillows instead. 

If he opens his knees he can bracket Flake’s narrow pelvis with the soles of his feet, toes tucked under his ass. Paul’s not helping any more, just watching and rubbing Till’s lower back encouragingly. The stretch isn’t half bad, if he takes it slow. 

He bottoms out and both he and Flake grunt softly. Flake grinds a little, and yeah, he does aim high, damn. He starts rocking gently, mindful of his weight, enjoying how Flake writhes when he sinks all the way down. He rubs his palm down Flake’s arm, shoulder to wrist, and then pulls his hand up. Flake opens hazy eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth and kisses the soft pads of them. He sucks them into his mouth, and Flake bucks up again but this time it’s _into_ him, and that was a great idea. 

“You can go harder,” Paul murmurs. “If you want.” 

“I’m afraid I’m going to crush him,” Till says, honestly, pulling Flake’s hand out of his mouth. 

Flake laughs under him. “Whatever happened to how you were really going to make me sweat?” 

Till shrugs. The truth is that he wasn’t naked at the time, looking up at him openly, and he’s pretty sure his arm is bigger than Flake’s leg. It’s why the act works, they all know that, but the knowledge of that disparity is always with him. “This is good. I’m liking this.” He slides Flake’s fingers back into his mouth and pushes his ass down, and it looks like he’s liking it well enough, too. 

Then Paul moves around beside them and pulls Flake’s arm over his back while he kisses down Till’s chest, down his stomach, down his cock. Flake thrusts up, not hard, but it rocks Till into Paul’s eager mouth, and he hears himself groan distantly. A few more of those and his quads are starting to quiver. He blindly pushes his hand between Paul’s kneeling thighs. There’s not space to do much, but he can enjoy Paul’s gasp, and how he slides the slick head of his cock against the inside of his wrist. 

Flake wiggles his fingers on Till’s tongue, and Paul tongues his frenulum, and when he jerks first up and then down Flake makes a hitching little moan. And Till can’t believe he ever said he didn’t want this desperately, this rocking between them, trusted beyond any measure he could ever hope to earn. 

***

They let him stay the night. 

Flake gets in the shower with him and wraps his arms around his chest under the spray. He’s less nervous about smushing him when they’re both standing like this, Flake is _tall_. He drops his head on Till’s shoulder. Till holds him with an arm around his waist and rubs his shoulders with the other hand, and that long wet body goes soft and heavy against him. So there are some benefits to his size. Paul hands them both towels and Till nuzzles at his bare shoulder while he dries off.

They produce a spare toothbrush (“We lose at least one every tour”). They stand all three in front of the bathroom mirror, lights on. It feels normal, except for how Till’s knees want to give out. Though the one often does anyway, but not like this. 

He sleeps in the middle, with just a sheet over. Paul sticks one leg out for cooling, and Flake who is only warm enough when everyone else is overheated throws an arm over him. 

In the morning he tells Paul, “Thanks for being the cruise director.”

“Pleasant trip?” Paul asks, rather smugly. 

“Very.” 

They each kiss him at the door. “Come visit again sometime,” says Flake. 

“Yeah, it’s nice in the off-season, too,” says Paul.


End file.
